


The Vicar with Two Hearts

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Victor Frankenstein (2015)
Genre: F/M, M/M, the rest of the happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He measures his life in the turn of the seasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vicar with Two Hearts

“What now?” He asked the open air. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Lorelei smiled and bundled him into the carriage, the letter still crushed in his hand. 

“We’re fugitives.” 

“Are we? According to whom?” 

He considered that as he slumped against the velvet seat of the carriage, the scratch of luxury against his cheek. There was no one left to link him to the events as far as he could puzzle out. The Wanted posters with his clownish face had long since been covered with other, more dastardly visages. 

“I have no master,” he told her. 

“As I’ve said,” she lifted up her feet and settled him into his lap. Her shoes were pretty delicate things, stockings demure over the turn of her ankle. He removed them and placed his fingers where he knew hurt might linger from running in such torturous heels. Her soft moans shivered over his skin. 

“I’ve no name,” he kissed her calf. 

“Keep Igor, it suits you.” 

They made love in the rocking carriage, setting his bruised body to it’s limits. Afterwards, he laid his head in her lap. She smelled of sweat, dirt and jasmine perfume. When Igor closed his eyes, he dreamed of the monster standing still as a statue in a field of flowers, blood oozing from its fingers to stain the ground. 

Lorelei brought them back to the Baron Bomine’s estate. The servants paid her no heed as she helped him once more up the back staircase and into her bedroom. They had seen far stranger things and were well paid to stop gossip at the doors. 

The bed smelled just like her and even as she left to speak with the Baron, he could imagine she was just beside him. 

He did not undo the back brace though it would make sleep easier. It’s leather embrace kept another close to him. 

When he woke, they ate breakfast in bed. It was a simple affair, but good butter over fresh bread would never cease to be a revelation to him. The unladylike way Lorelei devoured her portion of sausage had him smiling at her over their teacups. 

“Do you remember the cook’s mashed potatoes?” She passed him the cream. 

“How could I ever forget? Those poor vegetables never stood a chance.” 

“I used to have dreams about eating until I was full,” she admitted. “It was so important to stay light as a feather. Now it’s hard for me to deprive myself of the least bit of anything.” 

“You never should,” he buttered another slice of bread and passed it to her. “Let’s get ridiculously fat together until we can’t get our arms around each other.” 

Her laugh thrilled him still, tinkling down his spine. 

When their food was gone and their tea drank, she showed him how to lace her into her gown. The complications of hoops and laces fell under his nimble fingers. 

“Perhaps instead of my original plan, I should just have you be my lady's’ maid. Do you think you could manage braids?” 

“Perhaps, but the pinafore might be a bit of an odd look on me. What’s your plan?” 

“I’ll let the Baron tell you. He’s a kind man, really, once you get through the bluff, but he likes to think that things are his idea.” 

They met with the Baron in his study before lunch. The room looked serious with dark paneling and a broad desk with neat stacks of correspondence. Yet, the Baron had a hard time conveying the proper gravitas for the space. He looked more like a boy sat in his father’s chair, despite his graying hair. 

“Look here, dear boy,” he began before Igor had quite sat down, “I don’t know that I like a man who sleeps with another man’s companion.” 

“Uh-” Igor looked to Lorelei, who sat serenely beside him. 

“But my rosy cheeked cherub here claims that she quite led you astray. She believes you have an innocent soul. Sheltered.” 

“Yes,” Igor licked his lips, “one could certainly say that I was not much exposed to the world growing up.” 

“Yes, well,” the Baron leaned back, “you certainly have an unspoiled look about you. Something about blue eyes and good skin can do that. Used to have a bit of that myself as a youth. All a lie, of course. Never had an innocent bone in my body.” 

“Certainly there were one or two,” Lorelei put in with a grave look. “You’ve been so wonderfully kind to so many.” 

“Kindness born from experience and practice, not from one a natural inclination towards good will, my dear,” the Baron waved it away. “What do you know of the church, my boy?” 

“Very little,” Igor admitted. “I hold more faith in scientific process.” 

“Perfect. Just the kind of man I want then,” the Baron picked out a paper from one pile and handed it to him. “Congratulations, you’re a vicar.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“It solves several problems for me and you, dear boy. There’s a vicarage on the outskirts of this property that I upkeep for the barony. It isn’t particularly well attended, a few farming families and the like, but it’s been empty nearly a year which doesn’t look good. Just as it doesn’t look good to have an itinerant young man hanging about my household. Wouldn’t do, you see?” 

“I see,” Igor glanced at Lorelei, but she had her performance mask on, smooth and remote. 

“However, it is quite the norm to have the vicar up for a meal at the estate. Particularly if he’s a young bachelor with finer qualities, hm? And I do so like a bauble or two at my table.” 

“But won’t the parishioners want a religious man?” 

“They want someone to meet with them and give quaint speeches on Sundays. Plenty of time to pursue your own interests. You keep my gilded lily in your bed and god out of my bedroom and I suspect we’ll all wind up happier for it. ” 

“Indeed,” Igor said for the lack of anything else. 

That very afternoon, the three of them took a walk out to the vicarage. It wasn’t a hard stroll and it went pleasantly through the Baron’s meticulously kept gardens. 

“Bit difficult in the winter to come the full mile, but there’s always the carriage for chill nights. Anyway, I’ve found little stands between a young man bent on the object of desire, don’t you agree?” The Baron waved a walking stick in front of him like a baton. 

“Yes, my lord,” Igor thought of Victor with the righteous crack of lightening in his eyes. “I have seen such.” 

“Here it is, through the heather. Mother had a bizarre fondness for the stuff and it’s run rampant since she died.”

The church was a petite affair of stone and only one modest stained glass window. Igor surprised himself by liking it almost immediately. It had the air of a library though there were only a few books tucked neatly into the back of the pews. 

“The house is quite small, only two bedrooms, but the housekeeper doesn’t live on the premises. Local girl, goes home to her family at night,” the Baron’s walking stick opened the door into a kitchen. “She’ll keep the place neat and food on your table and her tongue doesn’t wag.” 

Compared to the Baron’s massive estate, the house was quite small, but compared to a caravan shared with half a dozen unwashed bodies, it was a castle. Igor walked into the modest living room with it’s heavy wooden furniture and looked out onto the heather bobbing in the breeze under the grey sky. 

“This is mine?” He asked too quietly for the Baron to hear. 

Lorelei slipped her hand into his. 

“As long as you’ll have it.” 

That night, she stayed with him and they made his bed together with linens she’d had brought down from the manor. It was the best dream he could’ve had and he never needed to wake from it. 

Or nearly so. Before he fell asleep, he set Victor’s letter on his bedside table. He could feel Lorelei’s on his back as he pressed his fingers to the folds. She sat up and wrapped her arms around him, setting her chin to his shoulder. 

“I would throw it away if you asked me,” he whispered. 

“I wouldn’t. Not ever.” 

“I must confess-” 

“I know,” she sat down beside him, a kiss brushed over his brow. “But it’s like breakfast, isn’t it? We had so little and now we may have so much that we can eat until we burst. You had no love for so long, I want you to become fat with it. Does that make sense?” 

“Not really,” he put his hand over hers. He could see the bones beneath her skin, the delicate veins and nerves, but none of it could show him how understanding she was and how her touch could ground him. 

“You can love him and me,” she kissed his neck, his jaw. “There’s more than enough for both of us.” 

He liked that. She could be generous in victory. He couldn’t imagine Victor doing the same. 

In the days leading up to his introduction to the congregation, Igor passed his time reading frantically through the thin library left behind by his predecessor. He ached for the beautiful books of Victor’s library though he had long since devoured their content. In comparison to the wild hope of science, he found the heavy morals and strictures of theology nearly impossible to wade through. 

Greta, the housekeeper, was a large girl with a voluminous smile and endless supplies of small talk. She turned out to be a better resource than the books. When he asked how the old vicar had services, she pursed her lips, 

“Well, sir, I don’t like to speak ill of the departed.” 

“Oh, of course, I only-” 

“But it was a rare service that he didn’t turn up stone drunk and yawned his way through things. So I think we’ll be glad if you can stand on your own and string the words together properly.” 

And she was right. Lorelei and the Baron attended the first Sunday service, sitting up front and looking very solemn for a pair that had been out gambling most of the night before. There were only twenty or so people in the rest of the church and all of them seemed more interested in chatting with Igor afterwards than listening to him during. 

“Where did you say you were from again?” One canny old lady asked. 

“Oh, a very bad part of London,” he shook his head. “Rescued by a Good Samaritan.” 

“You do have some sadness about you, don’t you?” She clucked her tongue. “Hm. Well.” 

That story spread and stuck, painting him a tragic orphan who with God and guts on his side, had raised himself out of the muck and into the church. It gave the Baron’s reputation a little shine that he should help an unfortunate. When the story infiltrated into the upper classes, it eased Igor’s way to Lorelei’s side to any event the Baron wasn’t interested in. 

They went to operas, ballets and danced their way their way through local balls. Lorelei made friends with some of the other women not allowed in inner circles and Igor was allowed among them when he proved a decent card player. 

One month turned into a season and then an entire year. In the winter, Igor spent more nights alone with neither of them daring the walk between their houses and it was then he thought most fervently of Victor. As he lay quiet, he remembered the curve of the wicked lovely smile or the tousle of curls as he worked. Victor’s hands on Igor’s knees, their noses practically touching as he explained some breakthrough over a spilled bottle. 

His memories of Victor would always carry the amber charge of brandy. 

Spring brought Lorelei back to his bed and banished memory into its closet. He started to write his own sermons on kindness and thoughtfulness. He still could not reconcile his life with a god that meant well towards creation, but he realized that he did not have to. He believed that people should treat each other graciously regardless of what compelled them. He thought that they should value each other in the time they had. Simple lessons that he taught simply. 

That he had medical training endeared him to his flock as well. They came with their broken bones, coughs and sores. Rarely did he have dramatic surgeries, but these tender mercies were taken with gratitude. The tithes he was owed, but was too bashful to collect were heaped on him. 

“Jam!” Lorelei gushed as she opened the pantry. “Why, this must be the first of the year.” 

“Mrs. Goodwell’s headaches responded well to the tea I gave her,” he admitted and they ate it together with spoons without leaving the cool confines of the pantry. 

Strawberry jam, Greta’s stews, long walks through the heather to visit Lorelei and meet with parishioners, all served to better his own health. When the time came, Igor could not bring himself to modify Victor’s work, but hut lay the original back brace in his wardrobe amid his vestments and tailored suits. It stood stark among the garments, irregular and bold. He touched the leather work with no little regret even as he donned his own improved version. 

With the summer’s kind warmth came flowers, picnics and badminton during the day. At night, Lorelei taught him how to swim in black water kissed with the moon’s reflection. He fed her wild berries and taught her what little he knew of astronomy as they dried off from their exertions. 

When the leaves turn brilliant shades of flame, he slept in her room in the manor and they talked about their past. She confessed to the brutalities that could not be seen on her skin and he told her of the cruelties she had not witnessed. 

“Sometimes though...” she combed a hand through his hair, grown long at her wish. “I miss the flying.” 

“You were amazing. I would watch every time that I could, you know.” 

“I wish I had seen you then. I wish we had run off on our own together.” 

“If you had been the one to free me, then I would’ve been just as firmly in your debt. A kinder master, but a master nonetheless.” 

“Do you still think of him that way?” 

He stilled under her touch. There was only one nameless man shared between them, near legendary now in his absence. 

“I think that I always will. But we are somehow equals too. I can be ruled by him and rule him.” 

“But it’s different with you and I?” She asked. 

“I think you and I are two peas in a snug little pod,” he traced the arc of her stomach. 

“That we are.” 

He woke in the early hours of the morning from her footsteps treading away. The curtains flickered open, moonlight gushing in. A soft gasp left her lips and he was at her side in a flash. 

“Look,” she pointed out towards the vicarage, a mere dot on the dark horizon. “someone has lit a lantern.” 

“A thief will be disappointed,” he frowned. “Perhaps someone is ill.” 

“Or perhaps our talk summoned him.” 

“No,” he denied because he could not allow himself to hope. 

“We’ll go together and discover all.” 

There was a sharp snap in his nose that foretold snow soon coming. It wrinkled it’s way under his clothes. Frost crunched under their hastily laced boots. He held Lorelei’s hand a little tighter and she squeezed it back. 

The front door of his home was ajar, the downstairs dark as he had left it, but the thinnest spill of light coming from upstairs. She went first, voluminous skirts crinkling a warning over the wood. Their intruder made no sound, gave away no trace. At the top of the stairs, she let him take the lead as he checked the study. It was empty and dark, but his papers had been moved, some books taken down from the shelves and left open. 

For the first time a sense of real violation and anger crept in. He had gathered those books himself, careful with his money and his mind. The papers freely accessible worried him less, only notes for future sermons. Everything of importance was locked up in the spare wardrobe. Someone had tried to open it, their fingerprints smudging dirt over the wood, but they had met no success. 

Lorelei touched his elbow, pointed toward his bedroom where the flicker of lantern light moved beneath the doorway. Perhaps the thief had made off into the night already. It had taken them some time to get here and who knows when the lantern had been lit? 

The door creaked as he pushed it open. Someone stirred, a soft inhalation of breath and then a sighing release. 

“We did summon him,” she laughed, soft and strained. 

Victor was sprawled out over the sheets still wearing most of a shabby blue suit and his boots. The familiar folded letter was clutched in his right hand while his left sprawled over his eyes. A battered travel bag sat at the foot of the bed. 

“He didn’t mean to stay,” Igor stood perfectly still, taking him all in. Thirsty as a man days without drink for the beauty of the lips, the fineness of fingertips and the rise and fall of beloved ribs. 

“No,” Lorelei agreed pushing past him. “But we might as well make him comfortable.” 

She bent to unlace one boot and Igor woke from his indulgent stupor to help her. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d tucked Victor up into his bed. The man had made a habit of working until the brink of collapse fueled with little more than a pint of rotgut. Igor’s bed was closer and it was easier for him to manage carrying Victor there. It had been a blessing on colder nights when no fire could be cajoled high enough to combat the drafty apartment. They could sleep warm together with Igor carefully respecting the space around Victor. 

Proper Igor with never a finger out of place. He wished now that he had dared to transgress. Together, he and Lorelei stripped away the hideous jacket and messily tied cravat. Igor returned the letter to it’s place, smoothing away the wrinkles Victor had dented into it with his sleeping grasp. 

“He’ll keep in his pants and shirt,” she deemed, then set about shucking off her own boots. 

“What are you doing?” Igor wrenched his gaze once more from Victor’s sleeping face. 

“It’s late, love, and I’m not hiking back through the chill at this hour. The bed will suit the three of us. If he didn’t like it then he should’ve considered that before he fell asleep.” 

“Three?” 

“Unless you want to sleep in your chair and leave me alone with the man.” 

He considered the ensuing picture in the morning and it was nearly comical enough to provoke him to it. But he saw the olive branch she offered and willingly took it. The bed wasn’t enormous, but they both tended to sleep small out of habit, curled into each other. Igor fitted himself between them. Sleep would be impossible, of course, but just in case he wrapped his hand around Victor’s wrist. 

“I’m not leaving,” the voice rumbled into his dreams, “but I would rather not piss on your nice sheets.” 

Igor pieced the thought together and let his aching fingers unclench. He opened his eyes to see Victor retreating and opening the window. 

“There’s a washroom down the hall, you heathen,” Lorelei grumbled, burying her face against the cold air into the back of Igor’s neck. “Use the chamber-pot.” 

“Too late,” Victor replied.

“You have excellent taste in women and terrible taste in men,” she muttered into Igor’s ear and he laughed. 

“What?” Victor turned back to them baffled. His hair was flat on one side and sticking up on the other. Despite his apparent gaiety, he looked terribly tired and worn through. 

“Just...come back to bed,” Igor lifted up the blankets. “Shut the damn window first.” 

“Such a mouth on a holy man,” Victor chided, but the window closed and Victor slid back into his place. “What have you done to yourself in my absence?” 

“Many things. If you stay, perhaps I’ll even tell you about them.” 

“There are things I need to do.” 

“With winter coming on and travel so foreboding?” Lorelei tucked the covers up over them all. “Stay until the thaw at least. Igor gets lonely in the winter.” 

“Oi!” 

“He does?” Victor looked curiously at him. “Why only the winter?” 

“Everything is dead,” Igor shrugged. “The world goes to sleep.” 

“Hm,” Victor looked him over. “Well. I suppose a few weeks in one place would give me time to put my notes together.” 

“I suppose it would,” Lorelei said wryly. 

“You went through my things,” Igor suddenly recalled. “My papers and books.” 

“Theology,” Victor snorted. “I was hoping you’d had the good sense to keep your hand in the current readings.” 

“I do. At the Baron’s house. He has been kind enough to lay in many works for me in his library. I have a few here for consultation, but I keep them locked up. Best not to scandalize visitors.” 

“Hm,” Victor didn’t apologize, but Igor didn’t really expect him to. Igor’s space was an extension of his own after all. 

“I missed you,” he confessed. And it was hitting him now all at once just how much he had. How he’d missed Victor’s carelessness and his vivid presence, the way he looked scared and fearless all at once. 

Victor turned on his side to face Igor, reaching out touch his cheek. 

“Yes,” it was agreement and returned sentiment in one breathy syllable. Igor surprised himself with a hard sudden sob. 

“Igor!” Lorelei sat up, eyes wide and touched him. 

“No, I’m fine,” he brushed hands over his suddenly damp cheek. “Really, I am. I don’t know why I...” 

She hugged him hard and that only brought the tears on faster. He couldn’t say when the second pair of arms came around him, only that he clung to both of them as the storm took him. When his tears slowed, he was too embarrassed to look at either of them and only lay limp, his head on Lorelei’s chest. 

“I take it that was some time in coming,” Victor cleared his throat. 

“Several decades,” Lorelei declared. “Now then, enough of that. You need to right yourself beloved and help me dress or Greta will be utterly scandalized before breakfast.” 

“Who’s Greta?” Victor stood back nearly falling out of bed. 

“My housekeeper.” 

“Housekeeper,” Victor repeated. “My. You have come up in the world.” 

“A privilege of theology,” he laughed wetly. “I don’t suppose you own anything that doesn’t make you look totally disreputable.” 

“Worried I’ll embarrass you?” Victor lifted his chin. 

“Worried that you’ll have a fit when Greta tries to rip your clothes off you to launder them. She hates a mess.” 

Victor had one slightly less sad suit, but nothing like the wild wardrobe long since burned away. He dressed and washed his face in the basin, watched with interest as Igor got Lorelei into her gown and did up her hair. 

“Clever man,” Victor rumbled and Lorelei sniffed. 

“Maybe he could fix your wild mop. When was the last time that crazed head saw a pair of scissors?” 

Which was how Greta came into the scene of her Vicar trimming the hair of a wild looking man while the Baron’s consort laughed at them both. They took breakfast together until a patient arrived with sobbing toddler, yanking Igor to his work. It told him how long Victor had gone without a hearty meal that he didn’t try to follow. 

The matter was soon set to right, but when he returned to the dining room, Lorelei was getting into her coat while Victor watched her pensively. Without his jacket. Apparently Greta had gotten a hold of him after all. 

“Come and give me a kiss,” Lorelei held out her hand and Igor went to her side. When he brushed his lips over hers, she whispered to him, “keep him here as long as he’ll stay and enjoy him. But please don’t go with him, just yet.” 

“I wouldn’t leave you,” he promised and kissed her with bedroom fervor until she pulled away glassy eyed. 

“I love you,” she told him. 

“I love you too,” he kissed her retreating hand and watched her walk down the lane. The first flakes of snow dotted the sky. 

“If I’m meant to be staying, you’d better show me around the place!” Victor declared, breaking the quiet that followed her wake. “I want a full tour.” 

“Didn’t you help yourself to one last night?” Igor asked, unable to suppress a smile. 

“Hardly thorough, bumbling around in the dark.” 

So Igor showed him the house, including the locked cabinet though he didn’t unbend enough to open it. Then he led Victor outside to show him the herb garden he had cultivated, full of good medicinal plants. 

“Mostly dead now, but they’ll come back in the spring.” 

“How can you be so sure?” Victor bent to run a finger over a crumpled leaf. 

“Because that’s what plants do. Wither, die, thrive. I’ve got many of them dried out and stored for the months they aren’t growing.” 

“I understand the uses for everything, but the basil.” 

“Kitchen medicine.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I like how it tastes,” Igor rocked back on his heels, pleased when Victor grinned at him. 

“Of course. Show me more.” 

“There’s the church,” Igor waved a hand casually at it and made to walk back through the fields. 

“You won’t show it to me?” 

“I didn’t think you’d care.” 

“If it matters to you, then it matters to me.” 

“You’ll think it’s silly.” 

“It’s just a building, Igor. Don’t be ridiculous.” 

Igor did hesitate though. The door felt heavier than usual as he pushed inside. There was no fire laid yet, no services or meetings intended for that day. The chill held fast in the stone walls. It was peaceful though, the single bright colored window dappling the floor with purple and green. 

Victor walked straight up the aisle to the altar, draped in it’s simple cloth. He studied it and moved on to the lectern. There Igor’s Book of Common Prayer lay open with notations jotted into notes beside it. 

“You lecture from here.” 

“I give sermons, yes,” Igor sat in the front pew, in Lorelei’s place. 

“Do you feel powerful? It’s very tall.” 

“No, not really. They only listen if I’m saying something interesting and I’m not sure I manage that very often.” 

“So you aren’t a spiritual leader?” Victor flipped rapidly through the pages. 

“What do you want me to tell you? I didn’t ask for this position, but while I have it I’m trying my best.” 

“I want you to explain how you could...how can you lie to them? You know what lies beyond the realm of death-” 

“I know that people need help to get through their lives. For you, rational thought can serve. Others need to believe that someone out there cares about their troubles, listens to them when call out in the night? That after they die, they will be rewarded for their toil on this plane? That there is a reason for why the world can be so painfully unfair and dreadful? How can I challenge that belief when I wish so fervently I could embrace it?” 

He didn’t realize his fingers were clenched into fists until Victor approached him, knelt at his feet and took one of them in his hands. 

“I did not mean to offend,” Victor bit off. “Only...you know.” 

“I know,” Igor closed his eyes. “I know you.” 

He heard Victor rise, the shift of clothing. He did not expect the warm breath on his cheek and then lips on his own. It was not a skillful kiss, too tentative and shaken for that. It was a glorious mess. 

They kissed until their lips were raw and the cold had seeped into their bones. When they parted, their breath steamed up between them. 

“Lorelei,” Igor guessed. 

“She told me a thing or two. Very scary whisper that woman has,” Victor shrugged. “I suppose I should’ve notice myself.” 

“You were busy,” Igor rubbed his thumb over Victor’s cheek, tracing the wing of bone beneath. “Come. I’ll show you the rest of my grounds.” 

“Not your bedroom?” 

“You’ve already seen that and Greta’s still knocking about.” 

“You’ve grown patient,” Victor complained. 

“I’ve always been patient,” Igor reminded him. “We have world enough and time.” 

They passed the winter mostly in bed, spread one over the other and talking. Ever talking. Victor about his travels, his discoveries, what was possible and what was just out of his reach. Igor about more mundane things, like learning how to lace corsets, the observations he’d made of apiaries and the preservation of food. One memorable night, he walked Victor through the design of his new back brace which Victor followed closely using fingers and tongue to trace his work. Night after night, papers spread over the sheets, charcoal and chalk leaving marks on skin and bedding. 

Lorelei came by every other day to take a meal with them and some nights, she joined them in bed though there was a sublime chasteness there. Once a week, Igor hiked up to the house and spent the night in her bed. Some days were easier than others, but she held fast to her promise. 

“He only gets parts of you,” she said satisfied in the darkness. “And I get the others. I can live with that.” 

Igor thought she was wrong, but wasn’t fool enough to correct her. He gave himself entirely to them both and they took what they needed. He would’ve been happy in those months to give either of them his beating heart if they’d requested it. 

It couldn’t last. When the first green shoots pushed through the cold dirt, Victor packed his bag. It took slightly longer than unpacking it as Greta had not only mended his old suits, but insisted on making him a few new shirts so that he wouldn’t look ‘like the worst kind of vagabond’. There was also the voluminous notes they had made together, tucked inside a bound leather cover provided at the last moment by Lorelei. 

“To remind you,” she said simply when she presented it. The cover had been embossed with a snowy winter scene of the vicarage. 

“You cannot possibly think I could forget,” Victor had taken it with a slapped look. 

“I think you could forget how to breath if it got in the way of your work.” She pursed her lips, then leaned in to swipe a kiss on Victor’s cheek. “Be safe, cousin.” 

“Yes,” Victor started, then stopped, looking wildly at Igor for guidance. 

“Say thank you and that you will,” Igor prompted.” 

“Thank you. I will,” Victor repeated. 

“You’re welcome,” she turned up the stairs, leaving them in the kitchen to make their goodbyes. 

Victor folded their notes into the portfolio. He was licking his lips over and over as if he were just about to speak, but the words weren’t coming. 

“Here,” Igor took Victor’s free hand and folded his parting gift into it. 

“A key?” Victor looked down. “To the house?” 

“Hardly. You know it’s never locked anyway.” 

“The cabinet,” he determined, a smile spreading across his face. 

“For next time,” Igor kissed the tips of Victor’s fingers then curled them back around the key. “Stay safe.” 

“Thank you,” Victor leaned in and kissed him properly. “And I will.” 

There was no time to brood on Victor’s departure. Lorelei snatched him straight out of the house and into the fray of birthday preparations. The Baron was turning fifty and it was to be a stunning party. There would be guests up to the rafters and three nights of revelry. Igor was needed to give opinions on things he barely understood and to taste dishes as they whirled out of the kitchen under Lorelei’s direction. 

At night, Lorelei read him poetry she’d unearthed in the Baron’s library. She had not been a great reader, but apparently the winter had given her the hours to improve. Igor listened to her read with his head on her breast, the beat of her heart keeping time. 

The party was debaucherous mess in the end, the Baron undoing most of Lorelei’s careful planning. She claimed not to care, but Igor could tell it strained her to see all the lovely things she’d seen to being ruined by drunken lordlings. One handsome young man spent the entirety of event ensconced over the Baron’s lap, so that the man himself barely noticed anything else. 

“We should travel,” Igor decided. “The miller likes to give sermon and can see to it for a few weeks.” 

“Where would we go?” She sat up, bewildered. “How?” 

“The Baron will certainly allow it. Perhaps he’ll even want to come. We could go...I don’t know. Anywhere. Couldn’t we?” 

They could as it turned out. The Baron was instantly taken with the idea and all three with retinue of servants were whisked off to a house in the south of France. 

“We could stay here,” she told him as they lay on the beach in the dead of night. The water glistened and lapped at their exposed toes. 

“Become fisherman and wife,” he laughed. “I’m not sure I could manage so much sun.” 

“What about the other part?” she swept a lock of hair behind his ear. 

“Which part?” he frowned. 

“The wife.” 

“But the Baron...” 

“He’ll want something newer and prettier soon enough. I’ll get an annuity most likely and some property if I want it,” she looked back over the ocean. “Do you want to marry me?” 

“More than I want to breath.” 

“I can’t have children, you know,” she said it quickly and facing away. “I’m not sure I’d want them if I could.” 

“I have an entire parish of children,” he shrugged. “I hardly need my own.”

“You can’t mean that. You would be a spectacular father.” 

“How could I when...” he gestured out to the water. “You know. You can choose to accept that my heart is...divided.” 

“Not divided,” she corrected, turning back to him. There were tears on her cheeks and he rushed to smooth them away. “You’re never divided. You...you’ve got two hearts, I think. Both swollen full.” 

“Well then,” he slid his arm around her, settling her close to the shape where she fit best. “Let me give one to you at least.” 

The second party Lorelei planned went much better. Their wedding was small and quiet. Afterwards, they served lemonade and a banquet of their favorite foods to all of the parishioners. Lorelei greeted everyone of them by name and passed around the plates herself. She left her silks and brocades at the Baron’s house, bringing with her simpler things, more fitting for a simpler life. 

“I wish I could give you more,” he told her as they crept at last into bed. 

“More of what?” She yawned. “We’re warm, full bellied, in love and have money enough to live on for the rest of their lives. What else is there?” 

“You make excellent points.” 

And she went on making them. Having her there everyday made far more of a difference than he could’ve anticipated. Everyday life became last frantic. She managed the household with ease, took over his herb garden with interest and came with him on his rounds, becoming a deft assistant. 

“I’ve always liked watching you fix things,” she explained the first time she came along. 

She had her own projects soon enough. Working with a few other local women, they raised funds to repair the local school. Her drive was enough to see it entirely rebuilt. If she occasionally went for strolls along the growing foundation, using the rim as a balance beam, it was overlooked in favor of her generous spirit. 

They developed a habit of going for a walk at sunset. Sometimes they talked, but mostly it was a quiet affair with their hands clasped between them and the fading light chasing behind them. When the last of the leaves swept away, they had to pick up their pace to beat fat flakes of snow home. 

The front door was open. There was a light on in the study. 

“He has unerring timing,” Lorelei said. 

“He likes the drama,” Igor determined. 

They found Victor at Igor’s desk, bent over a glass jar. The cabinet was wide open, some of Igor’s papers slightly askew and a few books tipped over. As soon as Igor crossed the threshold, Victor’s eyes were ablaze. 

“You got me a present,” he crowed. 

“So I did.” 

“How?” Victor ran his hands over the jar. 

“I told the farmer that I’d dispose of the unholy thing in the proper manner,” Igor grinned. “I suppose that I’m as good as my word.” 

“Marvelous,” Victor rested his chin on his folded hands, eye level with the unfortunate thing. A goat born with two heads had given all the locals a scare with the specter of the devil lurking behind it’s clouded eyes. Looking at it just made Igor a little sad and thoughtful. For every strange thing Victor wrought, Nature brought dozens more to bear. 

“How have you fared since we last met?” 

“Banalities? Truly?” 

“Victor.” 

“I’m as safe as you bid me to be.” 

“But not as safe as you could’ve been,” Lorelei spoke over Igor’s shoulder. 

“Where would the fun in that be?” Victor flashed a smile, but it was tired at the edges. “Your dress is unusually sensible.” 

“It’s appropriate for a Vicar’s wife, don’t you think?” She said mildly. 

“Wife?” Victor looked between them. “Is there a child too?” 

“No,” Igor knelt down at Victor’s side. “Just you.” 

“I think I’m offended.” 

That night Victor attempted to sleep in the spare bedroom. Lorelei fetched him with a long suffering look and dragged him back to their bed, pointing him to his place on the outside. 

“As if I have a chance in creation of keeping you two away from each other. Best not to pretend.” 

But even that valiant attempt couldn’t cast away the awkwardness of the three of them living elbow to elbow, Victor’s whirring cogs catching on Lorelei’s lacework, Igor’s smudges on everyone’s hands and the clutch of women that jammed up the parlor with chatter nearly every afternoon as they vied for Lorelei’s attention. 

And then there was Igor’s near chronic fatigue. He would no more see one lover unsatisfied then he would to slap them, so he spent the morning lying in with Victor, the evenings with his wife and lost sleep in every direction. Even his congregation started to notice his dark circles, clucking over him and bringing him home remedies as if he hadn’t patched a thousand of their wounds. 

It came to a head during a three day snow in that had trapped them all inside. Between one stir crazy wife and one scientist with dubious mental health on the best of days, Igor crawled into bed straight after dinner fully intending to sleep through the rest of the storm. 

Victor crawled in beside him at some point, all querying lips and wandering hands. Groaning, Igor turned over and pulled the blankets over his head. 

“Fair enough,” Victor laughed and kissed the nape of his neck. “Go to sleep.” 

Igor drifted back, vaguely aware of Victor reading beside him. The bedroom door opened and shut, heavy fabric falling away from Lorelei’s body to brush over the floor. 

“Is he feverish?” She was leaning over him, tea on her breath and a hand sweeping over his forehead. 

“Just worn out, I’d guess.” There was a hint of something sheepish in Victor’s tone. 

“Hm,” Lorelei kissed Igor’s temple then drew away. “We can’t continue on like this.” 

“Should I go?” the question was laden with danger. Igor’s sluggish mind strove to wake enough to warn his bride away from the blades of it. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” she bit back. 

“Excuse me?” The long line of Victor stiffined along Igor’s back. 

“He loves you. I...well despite myself I’ve come to care about you. You’re ridiculous, impulsive and stubborn as a goat, but you’re smart and quite funny.” 

“I am not funny!” 

“You’re hysterical,” she said dryly. “And I like listening to the two of you trying to solve the universe.” 

“You’re a very strange woman.” 

“You’re a very strange man. I suppose we make a good enough match come to that. Do you fancy women at all?” 

“I don’t ‘fancy’ anyone. I like the people I like.” 

“Do you like me?” 

With the snow so thick outside, the silence had a particularly muffled quality that sang through the dimly lit room. 

“Of course he does,” Igor groaned into the mattress. “You’re smart and gorgeous and don’t let him get away with a damn thing. Who wouldn’t like that?” 

“Then I’m going to kiss him,” she announced. “Objections?” 

“Not from me if it means I can get an hour’s peace,” Igor rolled into Lorelei’s usual spot, letting her crawl into the midd. 

“Victor?” She asked in a hush. 

“No,” he swallowed audibly. “None.” 

And really Igor had meant to go to sleep, but there was something impossibly tempting about seeing the two most beautiful people he’d ever seen kiss. So he cracked open his eyes. They were a little wooden about it, taking too much care not to infringe on the other’s space. Victor’s hands hovered with rare idecisions before Igor reached out and smacked one down on Lorelei’s waist. 

“I’m not sure I like this new cheeky streak,” Victor muttered into Lorelei’s cheek. 

“I think it’s rather fetching,” Lorelei leaned down to kiss Igor then turned her attention back to Victor. “Your lips are quite ridiculously soft. Do you use a tonic of some sort?” 

“They chap,” Igor cut in. “He mixes his own solution.” 

“I want some.” 

“I’ll make you whatever you want, woman, just get back to what you were doing.” 

They made love with spectacular fervor and a lack of care that neither of them had ever shown to Igor. Lorelei scratched and Victor bit, both of them carrying on like howler monkeys. It was endearing in a base sort of way. Afterwards, Lorelei hefted herself up and over to settle back into her place and shoving Igor back into the middle. 

“There’s a wet spot,” he complained. 

“You’ll be asleep before you wake up enough to care,” Victor kissed his forehead and proved exactly right. 

The winter dramatically improved after that and for the first time, Igor really dreaded springs tender advances. 

“I’ll be back,” Victor chided. “I’ll always come back.” 

He kissed them both, the goat jar bulging out his back to a ridiculous size. 

“Be safe,” they ordered in tangent. 

“Safe as I can be.” 

The spring saw them both busy again and filling the place where Victor should be with a profusion of activity. It was easier to mourn his absence with another, Igor found. 

A letter came to them on midsummer in that lovely slanted handwriting, 

_To my dearest and his dearest,_

_I have found a more permanent lodging. An old property of my grandfather’s willed to me quite against my father’s desires, but his will does not extend to Geneva. The house is large, nearly castle like, but has been ill kept. I mostly stay to the sturdiest wing. There is a generous basement where I can safely perform my research and it is there that my greatest work will truly begin._

_I stand on the precipice of something utterly new and marvelous. I can only wish that my laboratory companion was more loquacious. Goats in jars are fantastically good listeners, but add little to the conversation._

_This is not the letter in which I send for you. Both of you. Lorelei, I hope you will consent to come with husband on the day that I call. I see now that you bring a certain order of restraint to our proceedings that may previously been lacking. I can only say that I was very young now and that these few years have served to age me more than I care to contemplate._

_I require you both._

_Yours most sincerely,  
Victor. _

“That’s a fine I love you,” Lorelei folded the letter and placed it beside the other which still held it’s place of honor by their bed. 

“He hardly-” 

“I’d say for Victor needing is about the same as loving. Just as being needed is for you,” she kissed the corner of his mouth. 

“Will you come with me? When he asks?” 

“There is nowhere else I’d care to be.” 

That letter did not come for a long time and even then, nearly too late, but that was another season, another story. In that moment, Igor only thought of a far off future when he would be surrounded by the steady beats of two beloved hearts.


End file.
